


tides of fate

by rhymeswithpi



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Altissia (Final Fantasy XV), An Attempt At Comfort, Angst, Gen, Post-Canon, Sort Of, Tags Are Hard, iggy is a bit of a mess, like you expect anything else from me, non-graphic injury, summaries are also hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: Altissia never really had a chance to recover from Leviathan before the night took over. Half the city is still in ruins, the people scattered. Most went to Lestallum, and the few who remained and survived the darkness are hard and bitter.Ignis isn’t quite sure why he came here after the dawn, the place where he lost so much, the last place he remembers clearly before he losteverything.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	tides of fate

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time i was going to write for chocobro week. and i never finished any of the prompts (although many are still sitting half-written in the wip folder, shaming me).  
> this was originally for one of them, but i can't remember which one.  
> shoutout to yodel and robot for putting up with me yelling about this fic periodically for the last _three freaking years_.

Altissia never really had a chance to recover from Leviathan before the night took over. Half the city is still in ruins, the people scattered. Most went to Lestallum, and the few who remained and survived the darkness are hard and bitter.

Ignis isn’t quite sure why he came here after the dawn, the place where he lost so much, the last place he remembers clearly before he lost  _ everything _ . It would’ve made more sense to go back to Lestallum, or find a place for himself on one of the farms they’re setting up in the reclaimed lands in Duscae and Cleigne. Gladio and Prompto are busy helping rebuild the old outposts, making new homes for people who haven’t had places of their own in ten years.

What use was there for a blind man in all that? Not that there’s much of a place for him in Altissia, either, not when the focus is on putting back together what they can, rebuilding trade routes with the mainland. Still, people are trickling back to the city, some because it is their  _ home _ despite it all, others looking for something that doesn’t remind them of the homes they’ve lost. None of them really questions what Ignis is doing there with nothing but the clothes on his back, not when the majority are doing the same. A few remember him, remember his role as advisor to the Crown, seek his advice on what to do next. All he can do is try to help, try to earn his keep. Slowly, the city begins to recover. If asked, Ignis will deny anything to do with it.

It takes a few weeks for the things he's running from to catch up with him, launching him from sleep and working with restless energy until he can't keep going. Busy is good, busy means his thoughts can't bring this fragile peace he's found crashing to the ground. More than anything, Ignis is  _ tired _ , but this is still better than wasting away back in Lucis.

The first non-essential thing to reopen is the bar, a few months into rebuilding. It’s different without Weskham to run it. No one’s quite sure what happened to Wes, whether he’s alive somewhere far-flung or if he was lost to the night like so many were. When they come and ask Ignis to cook for them, he tries to get out of it. He really does. Surely there's someone else, someone more suited to the job than he is. He doesn't even particularly _ enjoy _ cooking, only fell back into it out of necessity.

But everyone else already has a job to do, has some other role in rebuilding the city. There is no one else, at least no one who can actually cook. The pay is miserable at best, considering the sheer amount of work he has to do. It’s better than doing nothing, though, even if it is just barely an improvement. Enough to pay the rent on a run-down flat of his own, enough to  _ finally _ move out of the spare bedroom of the couple nice enough to let him stay there. It’s not in the best neighbourhood (but really, there aren’t any particularly  _ good _ neighbourhoods), it’s unpleasantly far from the bar, but it’s  _ his _ . He finds himself with less time to think about the people he left behind in Lucis, less time to wonder if they even noticed he left.

He almost regrets the way he left them, but he still doesn’t see any other choice he may have had. Gladio and Prompto had thrown themselves into rebuilding in a way he simply couldn’t. They had something to distract themselves from losing Noct after  _ everything _ they had done, had something to do besides linger and haunt places that had once been home. Not that Altissia is much of a home.

They were better off without him dragging them down, holding them back. There were lands to reclaim and people to settle, and it was best for all of them if he got as far from the ghosts of Insomnia as he could.

It’s not the best life, not the life he  _ wanted _ for himself, but he’s not completely miserable. That just has to be enough. He adapts to the routine easily enough, gets used to being so exhausted he doesn’t dream when he finally collapses onto his bed. 

The months drag on as the city is rebuilt around him. Business at the bar is steady, and Ignis gets to know the regulars, takes the time to learn their favourite meals and drinks. How people have the time and money to spend on food and liquor is beyond him, but they keep him employed. It’s easier not to question it. Even the walk home in the hours just before sunrise becomes something familiar. Nightmares come less frequently, and Ignis  _ almost _ feels unbroken again. Almost.

He hears little snippets of news from the mainland by accident, overheard conversations at the bar or on the long walk to and from his rundown apartment. It’s tempting to stop, tempting to learn  _ everything _ about the places he’s left firmly in the past, but he keeps walking, keeps working. What he can piece together is enough to know things are going as well as they can back in Lucis.

It hurts, on some level, knowing they’ve just kept moving without him. It’s been over a year since he left, and they haven’t even  _ tried _ looking for him. It’s better this way, he reminds himself. It’s better to be on his own, better to be in control of his own life again.

  
  


It's been a while since the last fight Ignis was actually in. Altissia has an impressively low crime rate, probably because everyone knows everyone at this point. If nothing else, everyone seems to know Ignis is the Chef, and you don't mess with the Chef unless you want to mess with half the city.

It doesn't stop someone from trying, although all Ignis remembers of the incident is how tired he was. It's the only reason anyone managed to get the jump on him, really, lost and wandering in an unfamiliar neighbourhood. He thinks he took a wrong turn, went up the wrong stairs. In the end, he winds up with a fat lip and a small cut on his forehead, but he still has his wallet and the guy who attacked him runs off the minute he realises Ignis isn't an easy target.

One of his regulars notices the next day, doesn't accept the weak excuse he's been offering those bold enough to ask. Before the night is over, she's insisting he move closer to the bar, offers him a flat in the building she owns. The housing near the bar is way out of his price range, though, far too much for his meager chef's wages to afford. She doesn't accept it, insists on letting him stay for free. It strikes him as suspicious, really, but living closer to where he works would make his nights a bit shorter. Still, he knows enough about the people who frequent the bar to not accept. Nothing is free here, not since the night first fell.

He manages to refuse for a while, makes it a couple weeks before finally getting her to agree to take his money, even if it is significantly less than what he should be paying. The woman shows up at his door with friends in tow to gather his paltry belongings and move him in.

It's hardly more than a glorified closet. Ignis had managed to insist on that, at least. There's little point in the view the bigger flats afford, no purpose to extra rooms or space. She continues to say he doesn't need to worry about rent, that she takes care of her own.

His rent is never so much as an hour late. He may not know what she means, claiming he's family, but he refuses to owe anyone a favour.

Doesn't mean he can't appreciate how much shorter, how  _ simple _ the trip home every night is. He’s even willing to pretend he doesn’t hear the person following him when he leaves the bar. It’s nice, somehow, knowing he means enough to these people that they want him to be safe. Hopefully it’s not just because he makes good lasagne.

  
  


It’s slow, for a change. It might be the incessant rain, sapping everyone’s energy and will to go outside. The first couple days of it had been a welcome relief from the humidity and heat, but the longer it drags on, the more exhausted Ignis feels. The handful of people who have made the trek to the bar are just as tired.

Maybe that’s why he’s so focused on the man loudly flirting with the poor server. And the bartender. And with  _ him _ . 

Ignis knows that voice. He’d recognise it  _ anywhere _ , really, even after all the years that passed after Dino blackmailed them back in Galdin Quay. 

The knife makes a satisfying  _ thunk _ as it sinks into the wood. Ignis can only assume he managed to miss actually hitting Dino, based on the silence in the bar. It drags for a few moments, makes him think maybe he  _ didn’t _ miss.

“So  _ this _ is where you’ve been hiding, huh? Gotta admit, didn’t think you’d ever come back to Altissia, Ignis.”

Really, he’s only surprised it took someone this long to find him. He was expecting someone to drag him back to Lucis within  _ days _ of his departure, not nearly two years later. And fine, maybe he’s a little pissed that Dino just had to be the one to recognise him.

There’s a chance throwing a knife at Dino wasn’t the best course of action. It likely only drew attention to him. Not exactly a smart move for someone hoping  _ not _ to be found, but it’s done and he can’t exactly change the past. If he could, there would be far more important things to change than  _ this _ .

Ignis tries to focus on the tomatoes he’s slicing, but Dino keeps prattling nonsense at him, fingers tapping on the bar. He doesn’t  _ care _ how things are in Lucis. At least, that’s what he’s going to keep telling himself. Maybe one day he’ll actually believe it.

“Who woulda thought, though, blind man running a kitchen. No wonder people keep talking about this place. Know some people who would pay a pretty gil to find out where you are, too.”

The knife slams into the bartop as Ignis grabs a fistful of Dino’s shirt, dragging him closer. Close enough to smell the product in his hair, the ridiculous excuse for cologne he’s wearing. A long minute passes, and Ignis considers just slamming Dino’s face into the counter. He’s already made a scene, might as well make it a big one, right?

There’s a gentle tap on his shoulder. The bartender, probably, unless someone else has managed to get behind the counter.

“You need to let him go, Chef,” she whispers. “Everyone is staring.”

Convincing his hand to unclench is harder than it should be, but she’s right. As enjoyable as it would be to throw Dino into the canal, he’s spent the last two years of his life trying to keep from being noticed.

“Your aim is getting worse,” Dino says. “That’s twice you’ve missed me.”

“And you still can’t take a hint.”

Ignis turns his attention forcibly back to his tomatoes, lets Dino prattle on about some nonsense he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to while he goes through the motions of cooking. The bartender taps him on the shoulder some time later, lets him know she’s leaving for the night. The whole place cleared out fast, it seems. Less witnesses that way. Dino has the gall to walk him to the stairs.

“Don’t worry, Chef. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“You’ve literally blackmailed me before,” Ignis says. “More than once, if I recall.”

“Yeah, but now I’m in the jewelry business. Trading secrets isn’t my thing these days, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

Ignis shoves him into the canal before turning to leave.

  
  


Ignis forgets that he’s almost definitely working for the mafia as more time passes. It may be more willfully forcing himself to  _ ignore _ who he associates with, but it works. Besides, the city is back on its feet thanks to them.  _ He’s _ on his feet thanks to them. And if they keep coming to him for advice on what needs to be done next, it’s a small thing he can do to repay them for all they’ve done.

No one else comes looking for him as the months pass. He half-expects to run into someone from his past, halfway hopes someone he knows will walk up to him in the bar on any given day and drag him back to his life on the mainland.

If he is forced to admit it, Dino might actually be his friend. Somewhere in between thinly-veiled threats and an endless stream of insults, he’s grown something of a soft spot for him. Even though he definitely expects Dino to sell him out at some point, and their entire friendship is more begrudging tolerance than anything.

It’s not like Ignis wasn’t expecting to be lonely. Maybe he wasn’t expecting to have it thrown in his face like this, though. Dino just drifts in and out of the bar, sometimes going weeks before showing up again, acting like he never left.

They don’t talk about how things are on the mainland. Ignis isn’t sure if Dino just has that much tact or if someone warned him away from it, but regardless, it’s never brought up. There’s an itch to ask, a want to know how his friends are doing, and it’s always outweighed by the fear that he’ll find himself wanting to go back. Or worse, that his friends have moved on, and there’s no longer any place he might fit in their lives.

It’s several months into their tentative friendship before Ignis figures out Dino is following him home most nights. Not in a creepy way, or in a dangerous way. But it makes sense, really, that Dino’s part of whatever organization he’s found himself working for. The man  _ does _ make a living off secrets, no matter how much he claims it’s not his job any longer. Right now, Ignis may just be Altissia’s best-kept secret.

His third year in Altissia passes without anything notable happening, or at least nothing that directly affects  _ him _ happening. The city is mostly back to its former glory, the gondolas are back up and running, and there’s talk of the monster arena reopening soon. The bar stays busy, so  _ he _ stays busy.

  
  


“You son of a  _ bitch _ !”

Ignis knows that voice. And, regrettably, that  _ tone _ . He’d expected Gladio to show up long before this, if he’s being completely honest.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Dino? We paid you to  _ find Iggy _ . Are you seriously gonna act like you didn’t know where he was this entire time?”

“Not at all,” Dino says. “But you didn’t pay me to tell you where he was.”

There’s a loud  _ thud _ that suggests Gladio has slammed Dino up against one of the pillars. Chairs screech and clatter to the floor as presumably half the bar patrons stand up, and Ignis can only hope Gladio has the sense to  _ let go _ , since he clearly didn’t realise what sort of establishment he was walking into. Threatening the Altissian mob in their own city is stupid enough, doing it in their  _ bar _ is practically a death wish.

It’s painfully silent for a long minute. He scrubs at his face with what he hopes is a clean dishrag.

“Stand down,” Ignis says. “He’s an idiot, not a threat.”

“You sure, Chef?”

“Yes,” he says, sighing. “I’m sure. He’s… an old friend. Stand down.”

The bar slowly returns to its normal level of noise. Ignis keeps a careful ear for Gladio’s voice, ready to bolt if he needs to. Dino eventually finds his way to one of the barstools, has the good sense  _ not _ to say anything. The place empties out more slowly than usual, maybe, or it could just be time slowing down to give him one last reprieve from a conversation he doesn’t want to have.

“You ok here, Chef?”

It’s all he can do to nod, keep washing the dishes. If he opens his mouth, a wave of stupid will fall out of it, and he may find himself begging Dino  _ not _ to leave. All that would manage is putting off this awkward conversation a few more minutes, until Gladio reaches a breaking point. Dino may be an obnoxious smarmy git, but he doesn’t deserve  _ that _ .

It’s best to avoid prolonging this, no matter how much he’d like to throw himself into the canal to get out of it. Even if that is seeming more tempting by the minute, as this silence stretches into something far beyond uncomfortable. He’s determined not to be the first to speak, though he can’t exactly figure out  _ why _ . After four years, he probably owes Gladio the first word. Something to that effect, at least, if he could figure out what that even  _ means _ .

Dino bids him a good night, and to Gladio’s credit, he waits until the footsteps are all the way up the stairs before even approaching the bar. Ignis dries off the last of the plates and moves on to the next thing in the sink.

“Have you been in Altissia this entire time?”

Ignis nods.

“And you didn’t think to maybe tell us you were leaving?”

He shrugs. It wasn’t that he didn’t  _ want _ to tell them. It was more that he couldn’t find the words to say he just didn’t belong in Lucis, didn’t want to be a burden on his friends any longer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to actually say that out loud, if he could trust his tongue to behave and his words not to jumble into an incoherent mess. If he could get words past the horrible lump in his throat, the rising ball of anxiety in his chest twisting everything into something awful and unbearable. He can’t  _ breathe _ like this, and it’s his own damn fault for letting it go this long.

“Fuck, Iggy, are you going to say  _ anything _ ? You just left. We got back and you were  _ gone _ . Did you stop to think for a second what that would do to us?”

He shakes his head. Leaving was an entirely selfish act. Possibly his first entirely selfish act, really, the first thing he’d done in nearly thirty years of serving the Crown that was purely to satisfy his own needs above all others. If he’d thought about what it would do to them, he never would’ve found the will to go through with it.

The knife in his hand slips, bites into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger before clattering into the sink. He sucks in a breath, wonders when the last time he actually remembered to breathe was. How long have his hands been shaking? There’s a strong hand on his shoulder, guiding him to sit on the floor, carefully turning over his injured hand. It stings, more than anything, probably not deep enough to warrant any actual medical attention. Gladio’s mumbling something, and he doesn’t have the energy left to actually focus on what the words are.

“Shit,” Gladio mutters. “This isn’t – look. Well. You know what I mean, damnit. This isn’t the way I imagined this going.”

“You’re telling me.”

Gladio huffs something akin to a laugh, tugs his hand closer. Ignis thinks he might pull it back, out of reach, if he could just convince his wayward limbs to  _ listen _ and stop making a mess of things. That’s a lost cause at this point. He’s already fucked this entire situation up beyond salvation.

Maybe he should’ve thrown himself into the canal when he had a chance.

Gladio’s hands are gentle as he cleans up the cut on his hand. Ignis isn’t surprised, he  _ knows _ this about Gladio, but it still sets him on edge. Like he wasn’t already. Like everything that’s happened today hasn’t made him want to run.

“You’ve had worse,” Gladio says. “It’s already stopped bleeding.”

Ignis hums something in response, draws his knees up to his chest.

“Why are you  _ here _ ?”

The words fall out of his mouth, far more aggressive than he wanted, but at least he managed to say it.

“Someone told me I had to try the lasagne. How’d you end up part of the Altissian mafia?”

“They liked the lasagne,” Ignis says. “Besides, they needed a cook. It’s better than nothing.”

Gladio huffs another almost-laugh. Ignis waits for something, any way to get out of this conversation before it happens, before Gladio drops the question he’s dreading the most. The silence between them grows again, presses itself against his chest and makes it damn near impossible to just  _ breathe _ . Gladio lets go of his hand, shuffles back a bit.

“Why’d you leave?”

Ah. There it is.

It spills from his mouth before he can stop himself, all the anxieties and fears and self-loathing that came from the long night, all the hatred and crushed dreams that came with the dawn. It’s the most he’s said out loud in  _ ages _ , possibly since before the darkness fell. Gladio, to his credit, doesn’t interrupt, lets the word vomit happen until he’s practically gasping for breath. That strong hand is back on his shoulder, and he doesn’t have the energy to shrug it off.

“Fuck, Iggy, if you’d said something, we would’ve stopped for you. You know that, right?”

“And drag you both down with me? No. It was selfish to leave the way I did, but I couldn’t allow my grief to ruin all of us.”

“Just. Four years. It’s been  _ four years _ . Prom was convinced you were dead somewhere. Hell, I was starting to believe it, too.”

Maybe it would be easier if that had been the truth. He likes to think he’s left those fragile days in the past, the days he was so certain he would just break apart and scatter into the wind. They’re less frequent now, beaten back by the routine he’s made for himself. A routine that hangs in fragile balance, now that Gladio knows where he is. Now that he knows his friends even noticed he disappeared.

“It was selfish. I know it was. I could tell you it was something I needed to do, but that won’t change anything. You and Prompto have a  _ place _ there, something to do besides sit around and wait for things to get easier. Everything back in Lucis served only to remind me of what we’d lost.  _ Who _ we’d lost. I just couldn’t take it any longer, and you can’t pretend you would’ve let me leave if I’d said anything.”

“But Altissia? Didn’t think you’d ever come back here. Not after Leviathan.”

Ignis shrugs. He’d meant to go somewhere else, maybe, but Altissia was an actual place he could say, somewhere he could at least find passage to. At least, he thinks he meant to go somewhere entirely new, somewhere not haunted by the ghosts of what used to be and what he used to have.

Ghosts that are getting increasingly harder to ignore, no matter how much he’d  _ like _ to pretend they aren’t there. Maybe being in Altissia is a mistake, after all, but he can’t bring himself to  _ leave _ . He has a life here now. It’s not much of a life, but it’s his. It has to be better than wasting away in Lucis was.

Not like it matters much, really, when he’s sitting on the floor behind the bar with the last person he expected. The past is staring him in the face, and Ignis can only pretend he doesn’t notice it for so long before it crashes into his reality. He’s  _ tired _ . It’s been a stupidly long day, and he just wants to drag his weary body back to his tiny flat and pretend he doesn’t exist for a few hours. Whatever sleep he can manage before he has to drag himself back to work.

Gladio’s talking about the restoration efforts back in Lucis. Ignis doesn’t have the will to do much more than nod periodically, hum something that might be approval whenever there’s a lull.

“Come home, Iggy. We miss you.”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s not – Lucis isn’t home. Not after everything.”

“Iggy, you haven’t even visited his tomb.”

“ _ I can’t _ ,” he says again, says like his heart hasn’t been breaking every day for the last four years, knowing that he never got to say a proper goodbye, knowing that he never  _ will _ . Maybe visiting would give him some closure, but he can’t risk the chance that he’d just want to  _ stay _ , stay because it’s easier than trying to make a life for himself. Not that what he has is much of a life, but it’s  _ his _ life, entirely his, clawed from the world with his own hands.

Gladio insists on walking Ignis home despite his protests. He’s made it home without incident every night but  _ one _ , and besides, it’s not like he ever truly walks home alone these days. It’s easier to just give up and let it happen. Maybe Gladio’s convinced he’ll disappear again if he has a chance to run. Maybe Gladio isn’t entirely wrong. If he knew where to go from here, he’d probably consider it more seriously.

They’re barely down the street from the bar before he hears the familiar sound of someone following, just far enough back to reasonably claim they’re  _ not _ following. It would almost be believable, were it not some ungodly hour of the night. Even in Altissia’s heyday, there weren’t enough people out this late to provide adequate cover.

“Iggy,” Gladio whispers, “you know you’re being followed?”

“Got mugged once,” he says. “I handled it, but they insist.”

“You’re being followed by  _ Dino _ .”

“He thinks he’s being sneaky. Easier to just let him do it.”

The walk is blissfully short, even if it seems impossibly long with the silence hanging between them. He turns to unlock his door when Gladio grabs him into a tight hug, presses something into his hands before stepping back.

“If you ever want to come visit, just let me know, yeah? Or just… talk. Prom would love to hear from you.”

Ignis takes a moment, turns the object over a couple times before figuring out it’s a phone.  _ His _ phone, left behind with everything else four years ago. He sticks it in his pocket, nods before slipping into his flat.

It’s not until he’s safely behind his own closed door that Ignis lets himself break again. Here, with the locks thrown and a wall between them, it’s  _ safe _ to have feelings, safe in a way it never is outside.

Ignis never takes the phone with him, too afraid of losing it or having to actually  _ answer _ it, leaves it in his flat on a charger he found hanging from his doorknob. There’s an occasional message from his friends, and sometimes he finds the will to send a short message back, hoping the voice-to-text doesn’t make a complete fool of him. If it does, they never mention it and leave him what little dignity he has left.

A package gets delivered to the bar every month or so, odds and ends that Prompto and Gladio saw and thought of him, weird plushies made by Iris, little reminders of the home he still has, if he ever wants to return. Dino takes the time to describe them each in detail, right down to the pink talons on the tiny crocheted chocobo. Each gets lined up on a shelf in his flat, and on sleepless nights they remind him his friends are just a phone call away. Maybe he doesn’t have the strength to  _ make _ that phone call just yet, but there’s some comfort in knowing it.

Maybe he’ll never find it in himself to visit. It would be easy enough to do, now that Altissia has a solid trade network with Lucis, easy enough to find someone to cover his shifts at the bar long enough to go back and visit the people and places he left behind. And maybe he’d even find the strength in himself to leave when the visit was over, the will to return to the life he’s made here. And if he didn’t, well, it wouldn’t take long before Dino came to drag him back to the bar.

It’s not perfect. It’s far from it. But the days are a little easier, the nights a little less suffocating. It is what it is, and that just has to be enough.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i am garbage at replying to comments but i love each and every person who has ever taken the time to say something on my fics  
> y'all are the heroes gotham deserves <3


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